


On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

by RubySoho



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubySoho/pseuds/RubySoho
Summary: Modern A/U. Breakfast radio presenter John Bates hates Christmas - so he's none too pleased when he starts to receive anonymous Secret Santa tasks in the mail. Especially when he's roped into playing along for social media. With his long-time love the one tasked with documenting his adventures, will he rediscover his holiday spirit?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theglamourfades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/gifts).



> This is my Banna Secret Santa contribution for breakfast-at-bateses on Tumblr. Happy Christmas! :D
> 
> Based off the Hallmark Christmas movie of the same name, because it brings me joy.

**November 3rd**

Every year it started earlier and earlier.

Halloween had only just finished and the window displays around Downton had become glittering winter wonderlands overnight, bedecked with fairy lights and tinsel. The bus advertising hoardings had switched to the latest Christmas must-have gift or blockbuster movie.

John Bates didn’t mind these. He’d become so desensitised to advertising after three years in radio that he rarely noticed them any more. In fact, he thought he'd managed to do rather a decent job of pretending it wasn’t nearly Christmas.

Until he walked into the Downton FM canteen.

“It’s November,” he said by way of greeting, as he dropped his newspaper onto the table in front of the station manager. The strains of “All I Want for Christmas is You” filtered through the radio. 

“People expect Christmas music on the radio at Christmas - “

“Yes, at _Christmas_ , Rob, not in bloody _November,_ ” John said.

“This is our best time of year,” Robert argued. “People who would never normally turn the radio on do it at Christmas. It’s our chance to get a new audience invested in the station.”

“Rob,” John said seriously. “It’s November.”

Robert opened his mouth to respond, but his eyes drifted to someone over John’s shoulder.

“See if you can soften this grumpy old bugger up a bit,” he said good-naturedly as he stood up. John looked confused, until the scent of perfume hit him and he felt rather light headed. 

She’d been on holiday for the past week, and he’d missed her terribly.

“Why am I not surprised?” Anna teased him, slipping into the seat Robert had just vacated and tearing open a packet of sugar.

“You know me,” He said heavily. “I hate to disappoint. How was Mary’s hen do?” 

Anna exhaled hard. “About as exhausting as I expected. I was the first in bed every night, much to Mary’s disappointment. I’m too old to stay out all night drinking.”

John snorted. “You’re hardly old. When you say that I feel like a dinosaur.”

Anna giggled. His chest soared.

“What’re your plans for Christmas, anyway?” She went on. A dark cloud settled over his chest.

“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile. “Still not a Christmas person, I’m afraid.”

The Crawleys always have an open invitation, you know.”

“I know,” John agreed. “But I fancy a quiet one. A takeaway, a box set...”

He trailed off. It pained him to disappoint her, but after trying to force himself into the spirit of the occasion twice in the past - both times resulting in him returning home and drinking the best part of a bottle of Scotch - he’d abandoned all pretence. Not even Anna could swing his opinion on that.

Which was surprising, as in any other scenario he’d walk on water if she asked him to. He’d been smitten with her from the day he started working at the station, the warmth of her tiny hand as she’d shaken it, the way she’d drawn out Mr. Bates in her soft Yorkshire accent drawing a genuine smile from him...

“What about you?” He said quickly, before he could wander down that particular path. 

“I’ll be at the Crawleys,” she said with a grin. “Someone has to referee Mary and Edith. Anyway, I brought you this.” She said, handing him a coffee cup. “Don’t worry, flat white. I haven’t asked them to sneak in any festive flavours for you.”

John chuckled. “Thanks. Do people really like those?”

“They’re better in hot chocolate.” She said with a grin. “Enjoy the show.”

She turned and departed for the news office, while he did his best to drag his eyes away from the sway of her hips.

It would never go anywhere. He knew that. He was older, divorced, an ex-alcoholic with an injured knee and a walking stick. She was in her late twenties, gorgeous and intelligent, with an unconquerable spirit and the biggest heart. She was so far out of his league it almost made him laugh.

But she was his best friend - apart from Robert, of course. And with it, the light of his life.

*

8am. The switchboard was live. The playlist was set. Tom Branson the sound engineer in the next room gave him a jovial thumbs up. Showtime.

“Good morning Downton, we’re up and at ‘em this fine Monday morning with _Breakfast with Bates_. I’m with you until 10 o’ clock, so let’s see about making your commute a bit more bearable, shall we? It’s a little above freezing, and it’s December, so most stations would be force feeding you Wham or Wizzard, or Baby It’s Cold Outside, but not here. We’ll start off with something a little more bearable.”

John set the song to play, muted the microphone and leaned back in his chair. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that his mother would be tickled if she could see him now. Although he’d spent hours with a tiny portable radio as a child, he’d never been one to let his mouth run away with him. The idea of him taking over a radio show would have flabbergasted her. 

He smiled at the thought and idly scrolled down the station Twitter feed. Robert insisted he watch the _Breakfast at Bates_ hashtag to see if he could pick anything up to run with on the show, but despite Anna’s best attempts he wasn’t sure how to use it most of the time. He wondered idly if he could convince her to give him a crash course in social media at some point.

As if he’d summoned her out of thin air with his thoughts, he heard her laughter in the hallway. Instinctively he looked over his shoulder; she was passing with Tom Branson, laughing at some joke or other. As she passed the door to the studio, she caught his eye, and the smile she gave him threatened to fuel him for the rest of the day.

“Miles out of your league, mate,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the mixing desk.

*

He attempted to stick his head round the door to say goodbye before he headed for home, but she was nowhere to be seen. He attempted to arrange his face into one of nonchalance when Thomas Bloody Barrow clocked him from his desk.

“She’s not here,” the journalist said laconically, twirling a cigarette between his fingers.

“Who?” John said innocently.

Thomas snorted. “Don’t play soft, Bates, we both know who you’re looking for. As if she’d ever look twice at a lame old duck like you.”

John felt himself bristle. He was well aware of his own flaws, but having them pointed out by a sneering younger man stung nevertheless.

“I was looking for Robert, actually,” he said brusquely. 

“Mr. Crawley isn’t here,” Thomas said, and John felt a grim stab of satisfaction; reminding him of his friendship with the station manager was a surefire way to irritate Barrow. 

“Then I shall be on my way,” he said solemnly. “Have a good afternoon, Thomas.”

He could almost picture Barrow’s sneering face as he left, eyes raking him up and down, lingering on the cane. He knew when he’d started half the broadcast team thought he only had his job because Robert felt obliged, or because he pitied him. He liked to think he’d won most of them over with dogged determination and seemingly endless stoic patience, but Thomas had never taken to him. The feeling, he had to admit, was mutual.

He caught Robert in the foyer before he left, and received an enthusiastic thump on the back that made him splutter before he stepped out into the cold, leaning heavily on his cane. Some jaunty remix of a Christmas song from the early 1990s followed him, and he rolled his eyes.

He coped. It was difficult, but he coped. Five Christmasses now he’d spent on his own, chasing the ghosts away, drinking nothing but Diet Coke and water until he thought he might be ill. Normally he could handle it, although his head was starting to spin by the new year, but good god they started to ram it down throats earlier and earlier. How on earth was he going to get through two months of this?

The pub across the road looked warm, inviting. Homely. even. His hand twitched, and he curled it into a fist. He wanted - 

No. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t let Robert down, not when he’d stuck his neck out and given him the job. And he wouldn’t let Anna down. He could see the expression on her face already – not pity, never pity, but she’d be disappointed and that was worse.

He closed his eyes against the bitter tears of grief and guilt that threatened. It was going to be a long, long winter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for all the nice things you've been saying on Tumblr. :) I'm glad people are enjoying this!
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about how radio works aside from that one time I got to sneak into a recording studio after hours. If you work in radio, please excuse my ignorance.

 December 12th

It hadn’t been a good morning. It was Monday, for a start. He’d slept in and had to sacrifice his usual cup of coffee, cut himself while shaving in an attempt to make up time, and the inside of his newspaper had dropped into a puddle not long after he’d bought it.

It was therefore with no small amount of displeasure that John threw the studio door open, and nearly threw a punch to go with it when he met someone standing on the other side.

“What the bloody hell are you doing hiding like that ?” He snapped. Robert looked wounded.

“Good morning to you too, Bates. I’m only here to deliver your fanmail.”

“ _Fanmail? _”__

Robert shook a brown paper wrapped parcel at him in response. John took it gingerly.

“Snail mail, as well. Who sends us stuff in the post any more? It’s not full of anthrax or something, is it?” He said suspiciously.

“Come off it, Bates, you might be reasonably popular but I highly doubt someone’s trying to assassinate you.”

“Vera might,” he said, rippling the parcel open with his thumb. “Who on earth is sending me fanmail?”

“Must be someone enamoured with your miserable voice every morning.” Robert said with a smirk. “Open it. I’m dying to know what it is.”

With a skeptical look, John ripped the paper off. A piece of paper fluttered onto the mixing desk.

 _On the first day of Christmas, your Secret Santa gives to thee:_  
_Where would Christmas at Downton be_  
_Without the yearly Christmas tree?_

_Merry Christmas,_

Your Secret Santa

Baffled, John took the lid from the box. Inside was a little angel doll, made from silver and gold card, with a simple face drawn onto her ping-pong ball head and a tiny tinsel halo atop her yellow wool hair.

It reminded him of Anna. He nearly laughed.

“That’s sweet,” Robert murmured. “Is it for your Christmas tree?”

“I don’t have a Christmas tree,” John reminded him. “Plus it says ‘Downton’. Maybe it’s for the station.”

Robert hummed in agreement.

“That’s a point, actually. Maybe you can give Anna a hand. Ever since young Daisy from the front desk left she’s had to do it herself.”

“Anna loves Christmas. I don’t think she minds doing it on her own,” John grumbled, taking the little angel back and running a thumb over its woolly hair. It smiled beatifically up at him.

“That’s not the point,” Robert said. “The thing’s massive, it must be twice the size of her at least. Plus you fancy her rotten, so it’ll give you something to smile about this Christmas.”

John nearly dropped the doll, fumbling to catch it.

“I – what are you – I don’t - “

“Don’t be ridiculous Bates. How long have we known each other? I can tell.”

Heat flushing from his collar to his ears, John shoved the doll back into the box and put it in the desk drawer.

“I’m not doing it,” he said crossly. “I’ll help her get the damn thing into the foyer but that’s it.”

Robert raised his eyebrows in an aggravating manner.

“If you say so, my dear chap.”

“And I don’t want _fanmail_ ,” John added. “Especially not if it’s like this. The last thing I want is the full twelve days of Christmas coming across my desk, thank you very much.”

Robert didn’t answer. John looked up and saw him examining the flyer with a strange expression.

“Rob?”

“Hm? Oh, don’t worry Bates. I’ll deal with it.” He took the box out of John’s hands and opened the door. “Go on, make your usual industrial strength coffee before you start. Can’t have you falling asleep on the job.”

John watched suspiciously as he hurried out. He had a horrible suspicion his best friend was up to something.

December 13th

Robert, it seemed, was true to his word; there was no package on his desk. It filled him with grim satisfaction as he ran through the first hour of the show.

The phone in requests were easily his least favourite part of the job. He didn’t particularly like small talk, especially when you couldn’t read the body language of the other party. Most people were driving to work or already there when he was on the air, however, and he usually wasn’t faced with more than one or two at a time.

He was therefore rather taken aback to see the switchboard light up like a plane cockpit.

“Well, you’re chatty this morning,” he said, with a surreptitious look at the door in case Robert was playing some practical joke on him. “Let’s start with...let’s see, caller five! You are live on Downton FM.”

“This is Ethel. From Ripon.” The voice said, rather brusquely he thought.

“Good morning Ethel, what can I do for you this winter’s morning?”

“I was going to send in my request on the website, but I decided I _had_ to call instead.” Ethel went on as though he hadn’t spoken.

“Okay then Ethel from Ripon, clearly my cheerful demeanour’s had the desired effect,” he said, hoping the sarcasm wouldn’t carry through. “What’s your request?”

“Do you know who your Secret Santa is?”

“My what?”

“Your Secret Santa,” Ethel said impatiently. “I saw it on the website.”

Wordlessly, John clicked on the link to the station’s homepage. There, emblazoned across the banner at the top, were the words _Who Is Bates’ Secret Santa? _, accompanied by a professional looking photo of the little angel from the first day, along with a flyer for the Downton Christmas market. He could only assume that had been today’s offering.__

__“Well,” he said, for want of anything better. “So it is.”_ _

__He was going to swing for Robert bloody Crawley._ _

* * *

__As it turned out, all the calls were on the same subject. It was with more relief than usual that John put the next track on to play and sat back in his chair, dumbfounded._ _

__The door opened behind him, and he felt his temper rise again._ _

__“What the bloody hell do you think you’re - “ He almost snarled, spinning around in the chair before coming face to face with someone who definitely wasn’t Robert._ _

__“Good morning to you too, Mr. Bates,” Anna said teasingly._ _

__“I suppose you’ve seen the website,” he said, mollified._ _

__Anna suddenly looked deeply uncomfortable, examining the carpet._ _

__“Actually, that’s why I’m here.”_ _

__“What d’you mean?”_ _

__“Robert wants me to cover it for the socials,” she said quickly, as though she thought it might be more palatable for him that way._ _

__“He wants you to do _what?_ ”_ _

__“He said it might raise your profile - ”_ _

__“What do you mean, raise my profile?” He said blankly. “I do a breakfast radio show, I’m not a socialite. Why do I need a profile?”_ _

__“He thinks that it’ll get more people listening and invested in the show if they give you…well, a storyline was the word he used - “_ _

__“Bloody brilliant,” John interrupted darkly. “I bet this is Mary’s doing. Rob’s not cunning enough to come up with that on his own, and he knows how I feel about bloody Christmas. Obviously my feelings don’t matter, as long as - ”_ _

__He stopped when he saw Anna’s stricken face._ _

__“This isn’t _your_ fault.” He said, alarmed._ _

__“No, it is,” she said, and to his horror there was a quiver in her voice. “I should have pushed back - “_ _

__“No,” John said, more forcefully than he intended. “You have a job to do and Rob’s your boss. So is Mary, I suppose, she’s the programme director. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to guilt trip you.”_ _

__To his horror, he saw her wipe a tear away, and he didn’t hesitate before pulling her into a hug._ _

__“None of that now,” he said softly into her hair. “I’ll play along. You know I’d never put you in an awkward situation.”_ _

__“I can handle Mary,” she said, pulling back and looking up at him with a weak smile. “It’s you I’m worried about.”_ _

__John gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll live. If anyone’s going to make it bearable, it’s you.”_ _

__He spoke without thinking, and realised they were still holding onto each other. Anna must have come to a similar conclusion, because she let go as if he’d burned her._ _

__“Tomorrow, then?” She said quickly. He cleared his throat._ _

__“It’s a date,” he said. Anna smiled weakly at him and left him to it._ _

December 14th

“And on that note - “ John said, lining up the ident with a flourish. “It’s time for me to leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Joe Molesley for the lunchtime. Have a good afternoon folks.”

He switched the channel, waiting for the light to go off telling him he was no longer live, and pulled the headset off, stretching his leg out with a grimace. He’d hardly slept last night, strange dreams and ghosts of memories floating around his head.

On cue, the studio door opened and a beaming Anna appeared.

“Good morning, Mr. Bates,” she said. “Are you ready? We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I can’t believe you’ve come in on your day off to do this,” he said wearily. “And who’s we?”

Anna reached over him and tugged open his desk drawer, wiggling the little angel at him. He sighed theatrically.

“Come on then,” he said, sounding like a man condemned. “Show me where Rob keeps this stuff.”

* * *

John found he had a surprisingly good time, although he suspected that was more to do with the company than the tree. Anna was positively beaming at him, her face lit up by the twinkling lights, and the smile she gave him when he eventually relented and let her drape the tinsel around his neck was more than enough to fuel him until next Christmas.

“There,” she said triumphantly as she hung the last bauble. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” he said dutifully, admiring their handiwork. “Is that us?”

“There’s one thing left,” Anna said, pressing the little angel doll into his hands. It stared cherubically up at him. With a sigh he reached up and delicately balanced it on the top of the tree.

There was a click, and he turned to see Anna holding her phone up.

“What are you doing?”

“Documenting the task,” she said with a cheeky grin. “I wanted to have it looking candid, and I didn’t think you’d have agreed to pose anyway.”

“I might have, seeing as it’s you,” he grumbled. Anna blushed.

“Well, I’ve got it now anyway,” she said. “What’s next?”

“What do you mean?”

“What was your second day of Christmas present?”

“Oh,” he said. “Christmas market. I suppose that’s easy. It’s on the way home.”

“And Robert took the liberty of delivering today’s one to me,” Anna said with a grin. “I’ve had a look. Mulled wine. We'll be spoiled for choice."

"You've got this all planned out, haven't you?"

"I have, Mr. Bates," she said, looking altogether too pleased with herself. "I have indeed."

December 15th

The calls the next day were all about his Secret Santa. A couple had even decided to try their luck and get him to play some Christmas songs, but he stuck to his guns.

“Honestly, you get a couple of presents and suddenly everyone’s acting like you’re Father Christmas himself,” he grumbled to Anna. She was perched on the end of his desk, scribbling some notes.

“It’s nice to see it’s working,” she teased. “Are you ready for today’s adventure?”

John sighed and pulled the gift out of his desk drawer. It was flat, much like the Christmas Market leaflet. It didn’t do much to allay his nerves.

Warily, he ripped the paper off and a leaflet fluttered into his lap.

“You have got to be joking,” John said.

The Secret Santa letter of the day wasn’t written on the usual festive notepaper, but on the back of a flyer for the local shopping centre.

In particular, their annual Santa’s grotto.

“I can’t go to that,” he said, completely aghast.

“Why not?” Anna challenged, sipping her coffee. “You’ve played along with everything else so far.”

“But – this isn’t the same!” John spluttered. “This is for kids. I can’t go along there and hang about with a load of children. What will people think?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Honestly. You don’t have to go and sit on his lap and tell him you want a bike and an Action Man. Just have your photo taken. Soak up the atmosphere.”

John looked again at the words, written on the flyer in delicate silver pen.

 _On the fourth day of Christmas your Secret Santa gives to thee;_  
Memories of childhood, filled with glee -  
A chance to sit on Santa’s knee!

“It says I’ve to sit on his knee,” he said, handing her the paper. She took it from him and scrutinised it, tongue peeking between her teeth. He forced his eyes away.

“Maybe she couldn’t think of another word that rhymed,” she said with a grin.

“She?” John said, picking up the label again. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“Oh,” Anna said, suddenly looking flustered. “Did I say ‘she’? That was a bit sexist of me.”

John didn’t want to admit that he’d looked at the pristine wrapping and swirly cursive handwriting and reached the same conclusion.

“Alright, you win,” he said heavily. “Just promise me you’ll protect me if a load of irate mothers come after me with their handbags.”

Anna giggled. “Deal. I might even throw in a coffee while we’re out, if you’re lucky.

 _I already am lucky,_ he thought to himself as she threw a smile over her shoulder and pulled her coat from the rack.

* * *

There was a reason, John thought, he did all of his Christmas shopping online. The shopping centre was a mass of teeming crowds, smelling like fast food and perfume.

He let out a long breath, puffing out his cheeks and leaning heavily on his cane, feeling every one of his years. Beside him, Anna slipped her arm through his.

“You OK?” She said, eyes clouding over with concern. He gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’ve never been social,” he admitted. “Haven’t been to the shops at Christmas for years.”

“I try not to either,” she agreed. “People seem to think if they don’t go mad all at once that’s it.”

He hummed in agreement, trying not to notice the way she fell into step with his slower ones. He gripped his cane harder as Anna gently steered him towards Santa’s Grotto.

“I never visited Santa as a child,” he said suddenly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, really,” he said with a shrug. “I was a bit wary of strange men for a while when I was really young, and then I thought I was too old, I suppose. You’re still not going to convince me to sit on his knee,” he added. Anna giggled.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Bates,” she said. “I’ll settle for a photo next to him.”

It was the easiest thing in the world, when she was looking up at him like that, to sling an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her tight for a second. He felt her fingers on his back, and the blood skipped through his veins, warm and deliriously happy - 

\- and then they rounded the corner to the grotto and he saw an enormous banner that said _Merry Christmas Mr. Bates._

“What’s going on?” He said suspiciously. Anna had the good grace to look abashed.

“I thought it might be a good idea to let them know you were coming,” she said sheepishly. “Just in case you did get any irate mothers chasing you.”

Before John could answer, one of the elves appeared in front of them.

“Mr. Bates?” She said cheerfully. “We’re so happy you could join us! Santa’s waiting for you.”

John took a deep breath and gave Anna a long-suffering look as the elf gestured for him to follow.

* * *

“You’re being a very good sport about this, I have to say,” Anna said as she examined the photo she’d taken in the grotto. “You’re even smiling in this one!”

“Alright,” John grumbled. “Just don’t make me do that again. Quite why he had to speak to me like I was a child when I’m obviously in my forties - “

“It’s all part of the charm of the season,” Anna teased, taking a mouthful of her coffee. She managed to avoid getting cream all over her mouth, despite the copious levels of it on the top of the mug. John forced several thoughts that would have horrified his mother out of his head.

“It’s going quite well,” Anna carried on, still looking at her phone. “People are really getting involved. In fact seven people have already announced they’re your Secret Santa.”

John snorted into his own coffee.

“Do you think one of them is?” He asked.

“Only if their spelling is much better than it looks on Facebook,” she said with a wicked grin. “What’re you going to do if they come forward?”

John frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Smile and pose for some photographs for Facebook probably. What else should I be doing?”

“I don’t know." Anna said thoughtfully. "That’ll probably do. Robert _was_ talking about running a competition, whoever guesses the last gift wins a date with you- “

John nearly spat out a mouthful of coffee.

“ – but I managed to talk him out of it.” Anna finished hurriedly. Something strange flickered across her expression, but it was gone before he could place it.

“Yes, well,” he said weakly. “Thank you. Not that I imagine you’d get many entries.”

“Whyever not?”

“I've got the reputation of being a bit of a miserable git,” he said with a smirk. “I don’t think people are going to be falling over themselves to go out with a sarcastic old bugger who hates Christmas.”

That and Anna had ruined all other women for him forever. But he didn’t dare mention that to another living soul, no matter how many of his wife's divorced friends Robert attempted to push him towards.

“Don’t be soft,” Anna said gently. “You’re hardly miserable. Christmas isn’t for everyone. I doubt if be much of a fan if I wasn’t invited to the Crawleys. It’s bad enough having to make up excuses as to why I’m not spending it with my parents, never mind spending it on my own.”

John sighed. Anna never pried, never asked him why _he_ was spending it alone, and that alone was enough to make him want to tell her everything in his battered old soul. But it would be like ink blots on a masterpiece painting, and he couldn’t bear it.

“Well, nevertheless,” he said wryly. “ I'm hardly a prize.”

Anna sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t put yourself down so much, John.”

“I’m only being- “

“Honest,” Anna finished for him. “Except you don’t see yourself the way other people see you.”

 _The way you see me?_ He thought for a sudden, wild moment, before he checked himself. She was his friend, and he knew for whatever reason she was fond of him, but it wouldn’t do to let the irrational part of his brain run away without the rest. She was his colleague, and subsequently his friend. He was nearly twenty years older than her, with a limp and a divorce she knew about and plenty more she didn’t.

He drained the coffee cup and managed to disguise his sigh of self pity as one of satisfaction.

“I’ve got a few bits to pick up for the flat,” Anna said after checking the time. “I don’t suppose you fancy a wander?”

“Nowhere else I need to be,” he said.

 _Or want to be_ he thought as she beamed at him.


	3. Chapter 3

 

December 16th

John caught himself whistling Oh Come All Ye Faithful as he walked into the studio. It took him so by surprise he promptly forgot the rest of the tune and was left spluttering in the corridor.

He was saved from pontificating on what on earth was wrong with him when he came face to face with Mary Crawley, who triumphantly thrust her phone in his face.

“What am I looking at?” He said, squinting against the light from the screen.

“The Downton FM station inbox,” she said smugly. “Look how many emails we’ve got. And that’s just the main station email. Yours will be just as bad, if not worse.”

“Christ,” John said, feeling himself getting warmer around the neck. “When I said I’d do this, Mary, I didn’t want to be a _celebrity._ ”

“Oh calm down, Bates, you’re hardly going to have fans fainting outside the studio.” Mary said bluntly. “But this is proof that it’s working. You’ve got your audience tuning in every morning. Now you just need to keep them.”

“No pressure then,” John said sarcastically. A horrible thought struck him. “Wait, it’s not you, it it? You’ve not set the whole thing up to drum up a furore?”

“No, unfortunately. I wish I’d thought of it, but I’m just using what I’ve been given effectively. And Anna’s been doing a damn good job as well, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he agreed automatically, as Mary pocketed her phone and gave him a beatific smile.

“By the way, Bates, since you’ve played along so far, how about playing some Christmas stuff on the show? Don’t think I didn’t hear you whistling. Being such a Scrooge is a bit at odds with the story now.”

“Whatever you say,” he said weakly, but Mary had already left.

* * *

The day’s post arrived midway through the morning show. Robert handed the package – which was rather more unwieldy than its predecessors – over the desk to John with a knowing smile, a jerk of the head towards the news office and a thumbs up. John responded with a rather more rude gesture.

The box, when he unwrapped it, was thin and flat, and John mentally scrolled through all the local events to try and work out what he was about to be roped into. It couldn’t be worse than bloody Santa, surely.

“Well, Downton,” he said. “Let’s see what daft excursion this Christmas fairy is sending me on today.

He pulled the ribbon off and let the lid fall onto the desk.

“Two tickets to the carol concert in Ripon,” he said in some surprise. “Well, whoever this is obviously knows that the lovely Anna Smith is helping me out with this. That’s very kind of you. And - “

He picked up the paper the poem was written on and shone the silver ink into the light.

 _“On the fifth day of Christmas, your Secret Santa gives to thee;_  
The holiday's true meaning tonight we'll bring,  
So make your way to the church and sing!"

“Must be difficult coming up with words to rhyme with thee. I applaud Santa’s willingness to abandon these creative constraints,” he said solemnly. “I’m on the phones after this next track. You know the number.”

The door clicked as he hit play, and he spun around in the chair. To his intense disappointment, it was Robert.

“The lovely Anna Smith, eh?” He said. “You dog.”

“Can I help you?” John said, feeling himself flush under the collar.

“I just wanted to come and tell you how grateful I am, Bates.” Robert said. “People are really getting into it. Twice this week I’ve overheard people in supermarkets discussing it. It’s working exactly as we wanted it. And I do feel rotten for badgering you into doing it in the first place you know.”

John sighed. “I know. It’s not been too bad, really. At least I can wrap the whole thing up by Christmas Eve and that’ll be the end of it.”

There was a silence.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you round this Christmas, Bates?” Robert said gently. “I know you don’t feel like celebrating it, but I can’t bear the thought of you on your own. Plus Anna comes round every year, you know.”

There was no point in denying it any longer.

“Anna is the only reason I’ve ever bothered leaving the house at Christmas before,” he said. “But honestly, it just makes me feel worse. I’ll be all right. Don't worry about me."

Robert gave him a knowing look.

“You still miss her dreadfully, don’t you?”

“Every day,.”

Robert nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and left. John stared at the lights of the mixing desk until they merged into one, blinking mass, and tried to will away the knot of grief in his chest.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent in a state of nervous anticipation, until he saw the headlights stop outside the house.

“What’s that face for?” Anna said with a smirk as he forced himself into the passenger seat of the tiny car.

“What face?”

“You know what face,” she said as she pulled away with a glance over her shoulder.

“I ...well, I don’t really do singing,” he said grimly.

“Well, you’ll have to. Don’t worry, it’s only me.”

This did absolutely nothing to settle his nerves. In fact, it seemed to make them worse. He squirmed slightly in the passenger seat.

The radio was tuned to Downton FM, and John smiled fondly at her. It was the Saturday night show, and young Jimmy Kent had control; John had never heard of most of the songs the young DJ put out, and found his confidence bordering on arrogance at times, but he couldn’t deny that he was good at what he did.

“What are you smiling at?” Anna said, and he started suddenly.

“Jimmy’s not short on charisma, is he? I don’t know how he does it.”

“I'm not a fan," she said. "I like him, but I prefer you. You're lovely to listen to."

"Am I?" John said, amused. Anna made a noise of affirmation.

"Very soothing." She said.

"I'm no Jimmy," he said humbly, although he felt as though he could have floated away like a balloon. “He was born to do this. His personality shines through in his voice. There’ll be so many people turning his show on because he’s more than a presenter to them now, he’s almost a friend.”

Silence followed this statement. He looked at her in alarm – her eyes were on the road, and the corners of her mouth turned up fondly.

“Quite the orator,” she said fondly. “No wonder you’ve ended up on the radio.”

John snorted, and she dissolved into giggles next to him. Yes, he thought. This wasn't so bad.

* * *

The church was full. John could feel himself starting to sweat. He’d long abandoned any religious affiliations, and he hadn’t been in a church for years, but he hadn't lost the feeling of having eyes on him, judging him for his sins. It made his skin prickle.

“I love carols,” Anna said beside him. “They’re just so beautiful."

John made a noncommittal noise and flicked through the hymnbook.

“Not your scene?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t sat that,” he said with a sigh. “Just...I haven’t been Carol singing since I was a boy. And that was a long time ago.”

“When you were a boy?”

“Must have been,” he said thoughtfully. “My mother used to – “

He was cut off by the opening chords of the organ, and the rustle of the congregation rising to their feet. Hurriedly, he looked at the board behind the pulpit and flicked to the page in the hymnbook. It nearly dropped from his fingers when he heard the opening organ notes.

_In the bleak midwinter,  
Frosty wind made moan..._

His mouth went dry. If he closed his eyes he could smell the burned out candles, see the room lit up in the shadows thrown by the poor television light, hear the silence that met his slurred call...

“John?” He heard Anna whisper next to him. He gave her a quick smile.

He nearly jumped into the pew in front when he felt her little warm hand slip into his, giving his fingers a squeeze. He nearly turned to look at her, before realising that his expression would likely betray more than he intended. He stayed stock still, staring at the front of the church, mumbling nonsense and hoping that she wasn’t listening.

Anna was singing bright and clear beside him, and he couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. Nor could he stop himself from squeezing her hand in return. He let himself breathe past the lump in his throat, while his thumb trailed along the back of her hand. Grounding him.

* * *

“Well, at least I know you’re lying to me about one thing,” Anna said as they walked into the churchyard. “You've got a lovely voice.”

“You flatter me,” John said with a smile. The skin on his palm still burned from where it had met hers.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“What? Going to church?”

“No, I mean...this Secret Santa thing. It’s not upsetting you, is it?”

John stopped dead.

“Do you know who it is?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I just don’t like to think that it’s hurting you, that’s all. I could intercept them before they reach you if they are."

John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, it’s not upsetting me,” he said. “I don’t like Christmas much, but Robert’s right. It’s good publicity. I owe him that much, I suppose.” He gave her a wry smile.

Anna shook her head vehemently. “You don’t owe anybody anything, John. You saved Robert’s life. And you give back more than you think you do. Please believe me.”

John stopped and stared at her.

“Do you never doubt?” He asked.

Anna just smiled at him.

“No,” she said with conviction. “And I don’t doubt that the sun rises in the east either."

* * *

December 18th

_Make my wish come true,  
All I want for Christmas is you..._

John caught himself humming along to it before he could stop himself. He'd only just pulled his headset off when Anna as good as bounced into the room.

“Did my ears deceive me, or were you playing Mariah Carey?” She said.

“You got me,” John said grimly, thankful that Mariah was the only person she'd heard.. “Mary’s worn me down. For the first time, the breakfast show isn’t a Christmas-free zone.”

Anna beamed at him.

“Ever had a pumpkin spiced latte?” She said, smirking and nodding at the half-unwrapped parcel on his desk. It was a coffee cup with the Downton FM logo etched into the side.

"Oh, bloody hell,” He muttered as she threw his jacket to him.

*

To his surprise, Anna didn’t lead him to one of the chain coffee shops in town, but to a little café tucked into a side street. It was cosy and welcoming, with dark wood tables and clusters of fairy lights suspended in glass balls. It smelled of baking and bitter coffee, and there was a roaring fire in the hearth.

“I’ll get them,” Anna said as he reached for his wallet. “It’s only fair, since I’m forcing you into this.”

“Technically Rob is,” John said, but he slipped his wallet away when Anna gave him a stern look. He took a seat by the fire as she joined the queue, hooking his cane on the back of the chair and stretching his legs out in front of the fire.

“I’ll throw in a mince pie as well,” she said. “Not that it’ll match up to the standards of yesterday’s efforts.”

“Probably a damn sight better looking though,” John said. “I don’t think they would have cut the mustard on the Great British Bake Off.”

“Maybe not, but they were delicious, so they’ve passed the Anna Smith Bake Off,” she said with a grin. “Besides, they don’t have to look perfect. The poem just said you had to make them.”

John chuckled. “Go on then. Anything to make you happy.”

She was gorgeous in the firelight, he decided as she made her way to the queue. Her features softened and her eyes glowed, and he longed to see her this way every day. Every evening. Every morning.

He shook his head suddenly and watched her lean over the counter and laugh with the barista. Not for the first time, his heart ached that he wasn’t a better man. That he couldn’t be what she deserved. He could only imagine how light his heart would be if he could share his life with her.

He hadn’t noticed her leaving the counter and returning to the table until his coffee cup appeared in his line of vision.

“Try that,” she said.

John sniffed it gingerly and wrinkled his nose. She giggled at him.

“What do you think?”

“Smells like... a candle,” he said suspiciously. Her giggle turned into full on peals of laughter.

“Go on, try it,” she said, taking out her phone.

Dutifully, he took a mouthful as she snapped a photo. Just in time – the moment she had he pulled it away from his mouth, pulling a face. She burst out laughing.

“Not your thing?” She teased.

“Tastes like a candle too,” he said mournfully. “I’ll soldier on, though. It is Christmas, after all.”

The words surprised him, but more than that the fact that it didn’t pain him surprised him more. Anna looked shocked, and then her face broke into the widest smile he’d ever seen. After a second she busied herself with her own coffee, blushing. He didn’t think he’d ever loved her more than he did in that -

“Anna?”

They both looked up sharply at the man gawping at them. He was nonplussed, but he saw Anna’s jaw drop.

“ _Greg?_ ” She said incredulously.

John frowned, and then the realisation hit him like a cold shower. Greg, Anna’s longtime boyfriemd, the one that had taken a job in Washington DC not long after John had started at the radio. She’d spent twenty minutes crying on his shoulder after he’d finished his show one day; they'd decided that a long-distance relationship wasn't something the could do, and Anna hadn't wanted to relocate. It had broken his heart to see her so upset.

Greg was older than John had been expecting, with a faint hint of stubble and close cropped hair. Unfortunately, he was still a young man, with arms the size of John’s neck and, from what he could see through his shirt, abdomen he could grate cheese on.

“My god,” he said, dropping onto the arm of her chair. She looked helplessly at John.

“I...how are you? How long has it been? I’ve missed you.”

Something heavy dropped from his chest into his stomach at that, knocking the breath out of him.

_I’ve missed you._

He chanced a glance at Anna, whose expression melted from shock into something impassive he couldn’t bring himself to name. He racked up the comparisons in record time, between his own flaws and ageing body and the young man in front of him, whose parting with Anna had been enforced and reluctant, on both parts.

By the time Anna had turned round to introduce him, John had gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I scrapped this about three days before the Secret Santa was supposed to start because I thought it was too lengthy and going in completely the wrong direction.
> 
> Yeah. Too lengthy. *Looks at word count, then into camera.*
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry this is late - I'm starting to feel better, thankfully, so hopefully the last two chapters (yes, there's more!) won't be too long in the making! Technically the twelve days of Christmas are between Christmas Day and Twelfth Night anyway, right...?

 

December 19th

The last thing John wanted to do was go to work.

He’d spent a near sleepless night staring at the ceiling, trying to tamp down the pain in his gut. God, he’d known there was no chance that Anna would ever be interested in him. And with good reason. He was an old cripple with a job given to him out of pity and obligation. She was beautiful, clever, vivacious. By rights she should have left him in the dust long ago.

But she hadn’t. And he burned for her in his every waking moment.

He’d known that there would come a day when she would find someone worthy of her. Someone who could give her the future she deserved and ensure she wanted for nothing. He'd assumed his happiness for her would dull the pain.

Amazing how, after everything he'd seen, he could still fall prey to naivety.

Rubbing his eyes, gritty with sleep, he hauled himself to his feet. His knee protested and he felt bone-weary and heavy, but he forced himself onward.

There was nothing else for it. Onward.

* * *

 

_Onward._

It kept him moving, into the car, through the streets he could almost traverse with his eyes closed, past the station reception as he smiled automatically at the people he passed in the corridor.

It all collapsed when he pushed open the studio door and froze. She was in his sear, twirling his Secret Santa gift between her fingers and watching the clock nervously.

“Anna?”

Relief flooded her features when she saw him.

“I thought you might be about to disappear forever, Mr. Bates,” she grinned, holding out a coffee for him. He took it silently, pretending he couldn’t see the way she was trying to meet his gaze.

“John?”

“I – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” He stammered. Her expression softened.

“What happened?”

“I thought I was intruding." It wasn’t a complete lie, after all. “I didn’t think you’d miss me.”

Anna shook her head. At least she was smiling, he thought.

“I hardly spoke to him,” she said softly. “That was Greg. Although I suppose you gathered that.”

“That was why I assumed you wouldn’t have wanted me hanging around.“

“You’re a silly beggar,” Anna scolded him. “I only spoke to him for a minute or two. He’s going back to America after the holidays, so even if I did want to see him, there’d be no point.”

For a moment, John was so relieved he felt as though his knees might give way. He chastised himself almost immediately – it was beyond a miracle she was still single, after all. He couldn’t mope around when she did get a boyfriend, or it’d drive a wedge between them, and he wouldn’t have that.

“I’m sorry,” he said meekly.

Anna put the gift onto the desk and surprised him by throwing her arms around him. He rested his chin on top of her head, and his insides fluttered pleasantly.

“I wouldn’t change you for anything, John Bates, but I wish you'd stop assuming the worst when it comes to how other people see you,” she said seriously. “Especially me. You know I think the world of you.”

John made a vaguely affirmative noise. Truth be told, her words combined with the feeling of her in his arms had removed any ability he had to form sentences.

Too soon, Anna sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately as she pulled away.

“Aren’t you going to open that?” She said, nodding towards the envelope on his desk. “I’ve got an article to write, and you’ve got a show to host.”

Warily he picked it up.

“I'm almost afraid to look in these by now,” he said as he hooked his thumb under the envelope edge and flicked it open. Peering inside, he promptly threw it onto the desk as though it had bitten him.

“What?” Anna said curiously, leaning round him to pick it up. She laughed in delight.

“Karaoke?”

“No. Absolutely not.” John said firmly. “I played along so far but there is no way I’m going to go into some bar and stand up and sing godawful songs - “

“Alright, Captain Cheerful,” Anna giggled. “But it’s a private room. And as far as I’m aware, there won’t be anyone there but us.”

John steered his mind away from the definitely-not-platonic place it had veered into and took the leaflet from her.

“So what, we just go to this karaoke place, and sing? To each other?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Anna said with a grin. “We can duet if you like.”

Weakly, John rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh bloody hell, go on then,” he grumbled. "Never let it be said that I'm a poor sport."

"I won't hear anything of the sort," Anna said cheerfully. "It's your turn to drive, Mr. Bates. I'll see you this evening."

She left him holding the leaflet, wondering what kind of s

* * *

 “You’ve really never done karaoke?” Anna said sceptically. Ripon high street was busy, despite being early evening, and John awkwardly manoeuvred himself and his cane around the milling crowds.

“Do I strike you as someone who enjoys singing and being the centre of attention?” He asked. Anna giggled.

“I suppose not. I just thought everyone had at some point. Few too many beers, a pub with an ancient karaoke machine...”

“Does it count if it was Mary’s ninth birthday and she got one?” John said, wincing at the memory. “Rob and I did Me and My Shadow, if I recall. Nearly brought the house down. I’m not sure it was in a good way.”

“That counts” Anna said, looking positively giddy. “You and Robert? Really?”

“Don’t breath a word to anyone at work,” he pleaded. “I’ll never live it down.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she grinned. “This is us.”

To his surprise, she disappeared down a set of stairs to one of the lower level buildings. John peered down suspiciously.

“Are you sure?” He said. “It looks a bit...seedy.”

“Mr. Bates, whatever are you implying?” She said in mock horror. He felt heat shooting into his face. “Yes, I’m sure. I came here on a night out once. Come on.”

Reluctantly he followed her, and blinked stupidly as he walked into a reception that seemed to have come straight out of a sci-fi film. Neon lights everywhere, silver chairs, music he couldn’t even begin to place despite working in a radio station. He didn’t think he’d ever felt more out of place.

The receptionist beamed at him as soon as she recognised him and directed them into a tiny room just off the main foyer. It was dark, lit only by even more garish neon lights and the flatscreen hanging on the wall. John picked up the remote control and looked at it without much enthusiasm.

“Is it all Christmas music?” He asked.

“It’s been booked as the Christmas package,” Anna said, examining the voucher. “’Festive hits from through the ages’, apparently.”

She looked positively gleeful. John began to wonder if the whole thing was a practical joke.

“Do you think whoever this is was at the carol concert as well?” He grumbled. “They must be hellbent on embarrassing me.”

“Oh, stop,” Anna said warmly. “It’s only me. Why would you be embarrassed?”

John decided not to answer that honestly. Instead, he took the proffered leaflet and looked through it.

“I suppose ‘I don’t know the words’ isn’t an acceptable excuse?”

“You suppose correctly,” Anna smirked. “I bet you’ll make a good Bing Crosby anyway. You’ve got the crooner voice.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” he groused, still examining the leaflet. “I can get on board with Bing, I suppose. As long as you don’t try to make me do Mariah.”

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said cheerfully, reaching for one of the microphones. "Ladies first."

* * *

They took it in turns, on Anna’s suggestion. The first song was awful, the second saw the heat start to recede from the back of his neck, and by the time he was halfway through “I Believe In Father Christmas” he’d actually started to enjoy himself.

As long as he studied the screen with the words as though it was about to save his life and tried to forget Anna was watching him, of course.

He felt slightly guilty about how much he watched her in return, but truth be told he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. She swung her hips gently as she sang, bathed in the artificial light that he’d always found made people look slightly grotesque but made her completely ethereal. A faery, he thought wildly. It would explain the hold she had over him, at any rate.

“We have time for one more,” she announced, flicking through the options on the screen. “How about that duet you promised me?”

John made a show of grimacing and rising to his feet, but it was all good natured. “Oh all right. If we do Little Drummer Boy, promise me I can be Bing. I’m not sure I’m ready to step into Bowie’s shoes yet.”

“I have a better idea,” said Anna with a smirk. She pressed a few buttons and John watched as Fairytale of New York was highlighted.

“Really?” He said in surprise.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I thought an Irish drunk might be a little too close to art imitating life for you.”

Anna’s face dropped. “I’m sorry John, I didn’t think - “

“I’m joking,” he said gently. “I do have a sense of humour, you know. Go on. I’m sure after Bing, Shane MacGowan will be a walk in the park.”

Anna smirked and handed him the microphone.

He liked the Pogues, he had to admit. And he did like the song. He discovered he liked it even more when Anna called him handsome, even if it was just the lyrics of the song.

And, he discovered, he liked it most when Anna gravitated into his arms at the end in a slow dance, an imitation of the music video he was only too happy to partake in as the neon light illuminated them both.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anna finally finds out the reason for John's lack of seasonal cheer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love. :)

The snow had started while they were indoors, and it was nothing short of a blizzard by the time they got back to Downton. John considered himself a more than capable driver, but he was thoroughly relieved to pull up in the street outside his house.

“Your White Christmas must have done the trick,” Anna grinned, peering up at the thick, heavy clouds through the swirling snow. “Looks like I’m walking home.”

“You can’t walk home in that,” John said in alarm.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Absolutely not,” John argued. “Look, stay at mine. I can drop you off at home to get changed on my way into the studio in the morning. It’s your day off tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but – I can’t do that! You don’t have a spare room.”

John shrugged. “You can have mine. I’ll take the couch.”

For once, Anna looked lost for words. He felt mildly proud of himself.

“I – but I – I can’t do that! Your knee - “

“- Will be completely fine for one night,” he finished for her. “Come on. I refuse to let you walk home in this. I’d sooner drive you there myself, and then we’d both be in trouble.”

Anna looked as though she was about to argue with him, but for once he wasn’t going to give in. Yes, the idea of spending the rest of the evening with her made him want to do cartwheels up and down the street, but more importantly he really was concerned for her welfare. His brain swam with images of her lying for hours in the cold dark night, unable to move or get help.

No, John thought, shoving aside the part of his brain screaming that this could only end poorly as he opened the door for her. He wouldn’t have that.

* * *

His giddiness at having Anna beside him dissipated rather quickly when they stepped through the front door.

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing,” She said rubbing her hands together.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? That’s strange.” John frowned, hanging their coats up. “The heating should have come on. Let me go and check.”

He left her turning lights on and feeling the radiators hopefully in the living room while he made his way to the kitchen and threw open the utility room door. The boiler flashed cheerfully at him.

**ERR – 07 – ERR – 07 – ERR – 07 ******

“I’ll give you err 07,” he muttered, giving it a thump for good measure on the way out.

Anna was peering through the curtains with interest as he walked back into the living room.

“Bloody boiler’s gone,” he announced. “Coldest day of the year and the blasted thing gives up. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, sounding amused. “It’s really not that far for me to walk, you know. Besides, I think it’s clearing up.”

One look over the top of her head at the street confirmed that this was extreme optimism, even for Anna.

“You’ll break your neck,” John said urgently. “I’ve got one of those little halogen heaters. You can take my room and I’ll plug it in for you. I’ll be alright in here.”

“John, you’ll freeze!”

“Rather you than me,” he said. “I’ve got enough padding. It’ll be all right.”

Anna looked at the sofa with no small amount of scepticism. True, he hadn’t bought it expecting it to ever be used for sleeping, but it wouldn’t be all that bad for one night. He’d have to sleep sitting up, but he’d been in worse situations.

“Trust me,” he said, with what he hoped was a persuasive smile. "Now, how about a cup of tea?"

She relented, but he could tell it was only just. Still, a victory was a victory.

* * *

In the end, she fell asleep before he did. He’d given her one of his sweatshirts and a pair of boxers to sleep in, and her hair was pulled back from her face. His heartbeat had become very, very loud in his ears when he’d seen her.

He didn’t have the heart to move her when she dropped off midway through her tea, so he let her curl up under the duvet, bare feet against his thigh, while he stared into the corner of the room. It occurred to him that this was the first time he’d been in this room in the dark since…

He’d tried to avoid it. So far he’d succeeded. Every time he came in here all he could see was -

“John?”

Her voice was sleep-slurred and hoarse, but in the quiet of the room it might as well have been a gunshot.

“Christ,” he wheezed. “Are you – what’s the matter?”

“Was about to ask you the same,” she mumbled. “Thought I was going to have to check for rigor mortis, you were so still.”

_Cold hand in his, pale skin, she could have been made out of marble by the time he got to her_

He flinched. He couldn’t help himself.

“John?” She said anxiously. He couldn’t see her in the dark, but he could picture the expression on her face, worry and compassion and the open warmth that made her so dear to everyone.

“C’mere,” he said in response, taking himself by surprise. He wrenched one arm out from under the duvet into the freezing cold.

For several heartstopping seconds Anna didn’t move and he thought he’d overstepped the mark drastically, and then she shifted into his embrace, leaving into him and resting her cheek on his chest. He pulled the duvet tighter around them, trapping the heat, and then wrapped an arm tight around her shoulders. She mumbled something against him, something that sounded like tell me, and his heart clenched.

God help him, he loved her so.

“My mother loved Christmas,” he mumbled. “It was all her, really. Ever since I was little, even though it was just the two of us, she made it the event of the year. Probably because it was just the two of us, to be honest. She wanted me to have the same as every other little boy, I suppose. Especially after my father left. I loved it, at first.”

He stared into the darkness.

“At first?” Anna prompted tentatively.

“And then I grew up to be a shit,” he said bluntly. “After I came out of the army and my marriage started to fall apart I was angry at everyone. I fell into drink, I was getting picked up by the police for fighting...and my mother was still trying to make Christmas nice. I must have broken her heart.”

There was a warmth on his back and he jumped. Anna’s hand was between his shoulder blades and he felt as though he was vibrating, breaking apart under her palm, crumbling away until the part of his soul he’d build a fortress around was to be laid bare and unprotected.

“I came back five years ago,” he said in a shaky voice. “Christmas Eve. I’d been out boozing, obviously. She’d begged me not to go. As good as got down on her knees, but I went anyway. Came back at the end of the night and she...she...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, but too late; a tear had leaked out and he heard Anna’s sharp intake of breath.

“They said she’d had a stroke,” he said. “Fell asleep and never woke back up. She didn’t suffer. When I got back from the hospital I was manic. I poured every bottle in the house down the sink, aftershave and mouthwash and everything. That was the end of it. I never drank again.”

The house fell into silence as he finished speaking. He pressed his tongue against his teeth and said a silent prayer to a god he didn’t believe in.

“John,” she said finally, and her voice was strange; he looked at her in alarm and was horrified to see that her cheeks were wet. “Oh, John - “

She clasped both his hands in hers and pressed a kiss to his knuckles; he was so taken aback the heavy weight in his chest vanished for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“How could you know? I don’t talk about it,” he said.

“No but – I didn’t realise - “

She stopped suddenly and he could see the deep blush going all the way under the collar of her dress.

“Didn’t realise what?”

“I didn’t realise you had such awful memories,” she said. “I knew you hated Christmas, obviously, but I thought it was just the commercialisation of it, or the fact that it started so early. I didn’t know...”

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I miss her,” he said heavily. “Every day. But I miss her the most at this time of year. I know she’d have been upset to see me turn into such an old grouch about it but...it was always her. And now she’s gone.”

That was it. The dam broke. He couldn’t stop the tears that fell, even as he took his hands out of Anna’s and dug the heels into his eyes in vain. He heard her murmuring “Oh John, my darling,” as he wept and another kind of dam entirely crumbled.

He pulled her into his arms and held her as the tears flowed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! I'm sorry this is SO LATE, next year hopefully my sinuses won't be trying to burst out of my face all holiday season. I hope you've enjoyed it...happy Christmas/New Year/beginning of January I guess?

December 20th

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Confused and only half awake, John blinked a few times. The boiler must have resurrected itself overnight and begun to heat up the radiators.

That was the first thing he registered. The second was the soft movement of someone breathing against his chest.

The third was a very familiar perfume.

In a moment of panic so intense he thought he might pass out, he shifted his hips slightly and was relieved to find his anatomy wasn’t about to betray him. He let his head fall back against the couch and breathed until the room stopped spinning.

It was all coming back to him now. The karaoke, spilling his soul in the freezing cold, her hands in his in the darkness. And now she was here, sleeping in his arms with her hair splayed over his chest and oh it felt _perfect._

There was no time to savour it, though. The rational part of him, the part that he usually listened to, wanted to jump away as quickly as possible.

The much less rational part of him, on the other hand, wanted to pretend to be asleep, and enjoy the feeling of her against him. God, he’d dreamed about it for so long, what it’d be like to wake up to the warm weight of her in his arms, eyes focusing on his face with a lazy smile -

His decision making promptly ground to a halt as Anna stirred against him.

Her face was obscured, but he could see her mind working. The sleep-addled transition to consciousness, then confusion, and then realisation.

She shot out of his arms and nearly toppled over the edge of the sofa.

“God John, I’m so sorry,” she said, colour rising in her face. “I don’t even remember – how did we - “

She couldn’t meet his eye, pushing her hair away from her face with hands that were swallowed up in his jumper sleeves. She was adorable.

“Don’t be silly,” he forced a smile, pushing his own hair back. “What’s a bit of spooning between friends?”

The words sounded hollow to his ears. _Between friends._

There was a rather awkward silence.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Anna offered, rising to her feet. John beat her to it.

“Allow me. You’re my guest after all.”

He reached around the back of the sofa for his cane and stiffly made his way into the kitchen. He heard the soft footfalls of Anna behind him.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“I...thank you.”

Confused, he turned to look at her, empty mugs in hand.

“For what?”

“For telling me what you did, last night,” she said. She crossed to stand beside him and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “And you know if there’s anything I can do to make it any easier for you - Christmas, I mean...”

He looked down at her, with her hair tousled from sleep and her expression bright and open.

“You’re already doing it,” he said honestly. She beamed at him.

December 23rd

It was habit by now. He walked into the studio and automatically looked for the gift.

He did a double take when he saw the offering on his desk this morning; in comparison to the others it was enormous and bulky. He approached it as he might have done a live grenade.

“Hand delivered this morning!” Robert yelled at him from the corridor. “Santa’s obviously clued up on the Royal Mail Christmas delivery dates.”

“Well that – hang on.” John stumbled to the door and pulled his friend into the studio by the arm. “ _Hand_ delivered? Who delivered it?”

“No idea mate, sorry,” Robert said. “ It was lying inside reception. Just as well it’s all over the internet or the cleaning staff would have been calling in the bomb squad. Besides, it wouldn’t really be a secret if they came along and put it into your hand, would it?”

“No, I suppose not,” John said, disappointed. “Worth a go, I suppose.”

He looked at the clock as Robert departed, whistling. Twenty minutes until he was live. Twenty minutes until Anna started work.

He stuffed the parcel under his free arm and made his way to the canteen. Anna, as he predicted, was picking up two cups of coffee. She did a double take when she saw him.

“That’s...different,” she said, trying and failing to keep the smirk from her face. “What is it?”

“No idea. Thought I’d come and find you before I set about it.”

Anna put the coffee cups down and watched as he ripped the paper off. Possibly the most awful jumper he’d ever seen tumbled onto the canteen table. She burst out laughing.

“This cannot be meant to go on my body,” he said in disbelief. “And I don’t envy the cleaners,” he added, picking up a card which appeared to be constructed entirely of glitter. A cloud of gold floated lazily behind him.

 _On the eleventh day of Christmas, your Secret Santa gives to thee;_  
There’s just one thing that makes Christmas better:  
Your very own Mr. Bates Christmas sweater!

“My very own...” he muttered, unfolding the jumper again and looking at it anew. “Breakfast at Bates” was printed across the front.

“Good god,” he muttered. Anna peered round him and giggled helplessly.

“Put it on,” she begged. “Let me take a photo before I go into the office.”

“Please? I can bribe you with coffee if you agree to wear it just for today,” she teased, holding out a one out for him.

As soon as his fingers touched the cup he nearly dropped it in shock.

Dusting the edge of her sleeve was a line of distinct, gold glitter, twinkling up at him in the artificial studio lights.

* * *

Looking back, John would have no idea how he managed to get through the show that morning. He turned off the phones and somehow managed to wing it until noon, when he could wordlessly leave a confused Joe Molesley in his place.

He wasn’t sure where he was going when he got into the car, or when he started to drive. He only realised when he arrived. There was a long moment where he thought nobody would answer the door when he knocked, and he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ it to be answered.

It clicked open just as John had made up his mind to leave. To his joint disappointment and relief, it was her flatmate.

“Hello Ethel,” he said, tugging on his collar.

“Mr. Bates?”

“Is Anna in?”

Ethel blinked at him.

“No, she’s gone out to the shops,” she said. “Daft idea this close to Christmas, if you ask me. Do you want to come in and - “

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

Wordlessly, he unzipped his jacket and looked pointedly down at the garish jumper. Ethel’s face told him everything he needed to know.

“How did you find out?”

“I saw glitter on her sleeve,” he said shakily. “I suppose it could have come from anywhere, but something just clicked...”

They stood in uncomfortable silence.

“Why?” He said finally. Ethel looked nonplussed.

“What d’you mean, why?”

“Why do this...all of this?” He said. “I thought out of everyone, Anna was the one who wouldn’t pity me at this time of year - “

“Pity you?” Ethel interrupted. “She doesn’t pity you, you idiot.”

“Then why - “

“Because - “ Ethel broke off, looking over his shoulder and then up and down the street.

“Because?”

“She’ll kill me if I tell you,” Ethel said dubiously.

“Tell me what?”

She sighed.

“She wasn’t trying to be malicious or anything. She knew you found it difficult, this time of year, and she wanted you to know someone cared. Bring a little light into it for you, she said.”

John could have wept with how much he adored her.

“Why would she kill you for telling me that?”

“Oh, not _that_ ,” Ethel snorted. “I mean the real reason, the one she won’t even admit to me. She fancies the bloody pants off you.”

John was sure that if he hadn’t been leaning on his cane he’d have tumbled to the ground.

“She _fancies_ me?” He said incredulously.

“Men,” Gwen muttered. “You’re always so oblivious.”

John wasn’t listening.

His first feeling was euphoria, but it came crashing down around him as soon as it dawned. Anna was the most beautiful human being he’d ever met, in body and spirit, and every time she so much as turned her eyes on him it was like the sun breaking after a vicious thunderstorm.

But he was the thunderstorm. Or maybe that was giving himself too much credit. He was an old man prematurely, a cripple, an albatross around the necks of everyone he’d ever loved. Anna had her whole life in front of her, a fledging career, a beautiful future.

He would not weigh her down.

“Well?” Ethel said, breaking him out of his reverie.

“Well what?”

Ethel suddenly snatched up a tube of wrapping paper and brandished at him.

“You better not break her heart,” she threatened. “So help me God, John Bates, you better not break her heart. I saw the way you looked just now, and you obviously want her as well. Why do you look like you’ve lost everything?”

John ran his hands over his face.

“I can’t do that to her,” whispered.

“Do what? Love her?”

He flinched as though Ethel had struck him.

“Because that’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it?” She continued. “It’s not just that you fancy her. You love her, and she loves you. More than anything. What’s difficult about that?”

Images flashed through his mind, Anna in his living room tending to his swollen knee while her friends went out for cocktails. Anna awoken in the middle of the night by one of his war nightmares, infrequent but still enough to leave him a shaking, sweating mess. Anna falling into slow step beside him for the rest of their lives.

“I can’t,” he said helplessly. “You don’t understand - “

“No, I understand perfectly,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Anna doesn’t want anything other than you. She knows how much you beat yourself up, and you have no idea how much she’s dying for you to open your eyes and see how much she loves you. Please don’t screw this up, Mr. Bates. For her or for yourself.”

* * *

Her words rang in his head long after he'd left the house.

_For her or for yourself._

_For her._

* * *

24th December

Anna couldn’t remember having a more despondent Christmas Eve. She’d text John to wish him a happy Christmas, adding that she hoped he was bearing up OK.

She hadn’t mentioned it. He hadn’t replied.

The TV droned on in the background, some made-for-TV movie about the magic of Christmas. She’d stopped listening ages ago, and she watched the Christmas tree lights lazily, zoning out until they bled into one another.

With a crash, Ethel burst through the front door, clutching her baby son and several bags and looking flushed.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said.

“Where else would I be?” Anna said, gesturing halfheartedly with her wine glass. “Now that I can’t leave the house and have to find a new job...”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Ethel sighed, dumping the bags onto the couch. “It had to come out sooner or later.”

“That’s not really the point though, is it?” Anna said irritably. “I didn’t need you to tell him. Now he’s not talking to me, and I don’t blame him. I must look like a right stalker.”

“He guessed that you were Santa, I didn’t tell him that.” Ethel reminded her.

“No, you just told him I loved him, which is worse - “

“ - but it’s true,” Ethel finished smugly. “Watch the door while I go and put these away, will you? Charlie’s grandparents might drop his presents off.”

She disappeared upstairs before Anna could protest. Less than a minute later, the doorbell rang.

With a grumble Anna hauled herself to her feet, bundled her dressing gown further around herself and opened the door.

She had the usual “Merry Christmasses” on the tip of her tongue, expecting to find Mr. and Mrs. Bryant. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see John, snow melting in his hair, leaning on the doorframe.

“What are you doing here?” She said before she could stop herself.

He snorted. “Happy Christmas to you too.”

Anna’s heart seemed to plummet into her gut and leap into her throat at the same time.

“I came to pick up the missing present,” he went on, after several seconds of her gawping wordlessly at him.

“The missing…?”

“Well, it’s the twelfth day, isn’t it?” He said with the barest hint of a smile.

Anna’s mouth had gone completely dry.

“I thought – well, I had planned the Watchnight service at the church,” she managed to croak. “It was a bit too similar to the carol concert, I know, but - “

“I’ve got a better idea,” he interrupted , expression unreadable.

She swallowed hard.

“What’s that?”

John reached into the inside pocket of his overcoat and pulled something out, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. When she registered what it was she nearly fell over.

_Mistletoe._

Words failed her. She looked up at him as his Adam’s apple jumped once, twice, and he raised it to hold it over their heads in a trembling hand.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered, looking at her with a question in his eyes.

She answered it by grabbing the lapels of his coat and kissing him

* * *

She tasted like mulled wine and mince pies and the warmth of her lips on his made him sigh. Her hands went from his coat to the back of his neck as she stood on her toes to reach him, and he dropped the mistletoe into the snow as he splayed his hands across her back, holding her to him and

He groaned weakly as she deepened the kiss for a second and then pulled away, leaving him panting and shaking as she rested her forehead on his chin.

“You’re right,” she said breathlessly. “This...was a much better idea.”

He was suddenly struck with emotion and pulled her close to him again, wrapping the ends of his overcoat around her to hold her against him.

“Thank you,” he murmured against the top of her head as she ran her hands up his back.

“What for?”

“For being you,” he said simply. “And for making me a better man.”

She giggled against his chest. “You silly beggar. You’ve always been a wonderful man.”

“Not always - “

“Yes,” she cut him off with a finger against his lips. “Always.”

He pulled back and looked down at her, eyes open and honest. She was flushed and her lips were pink from his kisses; he let out a shuddering breath and kissed her forehead, trying to get his emotions under control.

“Happy Christmas, Mr. Bates” She whispered, palms against his chest. “Would you like to come in?”

"Just you try and stop me," he said hoarsely. His lips met hers again, while the tree lights flickered and the snow swirled around them.


End file.
